Entombed in the Tower
by Late to the Party
Summary: A single slip and life changed forever. They locked him away, but he locked himself away more securely than any stone cell ever could. Something in him died that day – and unable to let go, he could not go on as he was. Now, he has to learn to live again. Warning: chapter 1 contains non-explicit mentions of sensitive themes
1. Entombed in the Tower

**A/N: Please note that there are themes written as non-explicit mentions that may upset certain individuals. If self-abuse/self-harm is one of those, I urge you to skip ahead to chapter 2. I do not advocate self-harm/self-abuse so please do not think I am encouraging or endorsing it: I am not. This work is entirely fictional and should be treated as such.**

**The premise for this particular piece was sparked from an idea that popped into my head: what would prevent Charname from embarking upon the standard journey and leave an impact that ran so deep it altered his character and how would the Taint react?**

**As always, I own only the OC and none of the rest.**

** Additionally, I began this piece back in December last year (2018) but I never got around to finishing it - until today. So here it is.**

* * *

Entombed

Howling as they whipped the walls, the gales climbed e'er higher. It was on a day not unlike today, on the stormy afternoon that Imoen slipped, fell, and broke into golden dust. He couldn't scrub the sight from his mind, even though it had been years. Her cracked skull, the seeping blood, and then… nothing. No one believed him, no matter how much he swore it. Instead, he was confined to the tower overlooking the sea.

Books he could not want for, but company? How many dreary hours, how many days… he didn't know. But the days became years, and the years could not pass any slower if they had wished it. In his cell with the barred window, he felt his sanity steadily decline and one day, it silently slipped away. It was a madness that gripped him, madness that drove him to stab his quill into his own flesh, spearing the tender white of his forearm. At first, he hesitated, but then he pushed down. The pain was sharp, unwelcome; it hurt, but it wasn't enough. It took him a bit of time to muster the courage to try again. After the twelfth time, driving it in felt… good. It was the strangest sensation. Why had he done it? He didn't know, but there was a release. There was a giddiness, euphoria, and then, then came the tears. Gods, he missed her. He missed her so much. He hadn't even been paying attention as she capered across the parapets. He warned her she'd slip and die, but she simply laughed like she always laughed.

Then it began to rain, big, fat splatters, and just as she pivoted, for he heard the scrape of her shoe, and then a scream; wheeling around from the tree, he saw she was gone. Rushing to the edge, he saw her… and then she was gone.

In his dreams, he saw himself observe the branch was weaker than the rest; why hadn't he called out to her? Even if he hadn't pushed her, he'd let her fall. Why hadn't he done more? Why hadn't he stopped her? A few more steps and he could have caught her, even if she'd slipped, he could have caught her. Why hadn't he paid more attention? She loved to jump off the stable roof, always climbed on the water butts. He'd seen her climb every tree in Candlekeep every single day, no matter the weather. Had he simply grown tired of catching her? Every few months she twisted her ankle and she leant on him as they stumbled to the infirmary. Had he simply grown tired of her…? Had part of him wanted her to fall?

No one ever came to speak with him. Fresh supplies, fresh clothing was pushed through a hatch in the outer door, a door that was forever locked. A gong sounded, alerting him and there it was, his tenday's worth of provisions. How tired of it he'd grown. No matter how hoarse he screamed himself, no one ever came. No one cared. He hadn't done it. It wasn't his fault. It didn't alleviate the guilt. Throwing his head into his hands, how long had he rocked on his haunches; how many tears had pooled at his jaw?

Today, today everything would change. Today, he would join her. There was nothing here for him anyway.


	2. Paved With Good Intentions

Books, shelves of books. Dusty old tomes, knowledge unparalleled, herbs, medicine, and provisions. He had scrimped, saved, and finally, his concoction was complete. Three years' worth of herbs, fermented, boiled, distilled. In the winter, they even let him have a fire, an iron kettle, and with a few alterations, what more did anyone need? Even if the 'elixir' didn't kill him, surely the retching would.

And so, he quaffed it. His throat seized, his chest throbbed, gripped more tightly than anything, and he gasped for breath, clawing. Everything turned to black.

—

When he came to, he stared up into clouds of emerald fire. A spectral outline in white saw an impish, freckled face quirk in what could only have been a smile. "Heya, it's me–"

"Imoen…" He whispered, and the world turned to black again.


	3. Given Freely

"Flesh and blood!" That cheek-splitting grin reached her ears.

"Ow!" He rubbed his arm as her fingers retracted.

"Just to prove you're not dreaming!"

A deep sigh loosened. It was so much to take in. This… place… this… pocket plane. And a 'spark'? Only a spark of his life needed to return hers to her? He hadn't even stopped to consider the implications.

Her lips met his cheek. "I've missed you so much."

His arms were around her before he realised. She shouldn't have aged; she was dead, but somehow, she was older. She looked about twelve, physically, but that couldn't be right either. Could it? He didn't care. Her warmth was real. She was alive… that's all that mattered.

—

"I don't know what you expect me to do." Side-eying her, he slumped against one of the many walls, its odd spiral pattern constantly drawing his eye. "I think staying put is best."

Imoen rolled her eyes. "Have you even been outside?"

"Uh, let me see… no."

"Exercised?"

"Where? Do I look like I've exercised?"

"You're as skinny as a lich." She poked him.

"You'd know." It was his turn to roll his eyes as he shuffled back, his knees drawing up to his chin. "Do you want to know what I ate for the past however many years it was? Do you? Gruel. Every single day. If I was lucky, it was spiced gruel. Yeah. I was cloistered, Im. I might as well have been an imprisoned hermit. Now you're telling me there are others who want to kill me? D'you think I stand any chance against that?"

She folded her arms. "Well, we can't just sit here."

"I don't see why not." Stretching he yawned. "It's not like I can leave."

"You don't want to!" She accused. "We could go anywhere. All you have to do is focus. I know it."

"How?"

"By concentrating, bufflehead. Think of somewhere you'd like to go."

"There's nowhere." Spreading out, he winced as he looked at the swirling sky and its horrid green fire. Its churning was worse than the spiral patterns. Flipping onto his side, he tried not to stare up at it.

"You were stuck in that cell for gods know how long and there's nowhere you want to go?"

He shrugged. He wasn't going to argue. "I'm going to sleep."

Imoen just stared, as if she couldn't quite believe what had happened to him. As his eyes drifted shut, he watched as she skipped away. He didn't even have a blanket to cover himself with. Maybe he was dead and this was hell. Isolated. But why would Imoen be here? Unless she was there to torment him. He didn't feel dead. As sleep claimed him, the nightmares returned, and as always, he was responsible for Imoen's death. He still couldn't bring himself to say sorry. It hurt too much.


	4. A Trial More Apt

"These rooms are meant to test you." Imoen confided with all the confidence of her old self.

He shrugged. Tested? Who wanted that. Slumping down, he leant against the wall and let his eyes drift, his chin resting between his knees.

Imoen planted her hands on her hips. "Well, what do you want to do then? You don't want to go explore and you don't want to go outside."

"Checkers?" He offered a wan smile, then sighed.

What could only be described as a conniving light entered her eyes. "Sure, but I don't play for free."

He looked away.

Heaving a great exhale, she marched over and poked him in the arm. "You're supposed to ask what the stakes are, dummy."

He didn't answer.

—


	5. Only Winners

"You cheated," he observed noting that she had cleared out his pieces without missing a beat. It was their third rematch, and her victories became swifter each time. Sitting against the wall while Imoen sprawled out across the floor

"I want to go outside, breathe real air." She leaned back, her stack of stones in five neat towers. Stones gathered from the walls of this place, some marked, some not. "I want to see trees, climb them, feel the wind in my hair, the sea on my – hey…"

He was shaking his head, his throat caught, the blood drained from his face.

"We won't go near the cliffs, I promise."

She didn't sound like a twelve-year-old. "Come on, please."

Pulling his knees to his chin, he turned away from her, facing the wall.


	6. A Stroll in the Park

"You know," Imoen considered from her perch high up on one of the two twin statues that decorated the far wall, "I miss eating. Do you miss eating?"

Squeezing open one eye, he turned over his shoulder, his back to the statues.

"Warm, hot food… spiced ale… don't look at me like that, I worked in a tavern."

"'Worked'." The weakest of smiles creased his face.

"Turning over bedsheets is work. Do you know how hard it is to lift them, beat them and wash them?"

"That's what the mages are for." A yawn escaped him. "You never had to do anything."

"Nuh uh, I swept the floors didn't I?"

He shrugged. He never remembered Imoen doing any chores, only pretending to.

"Hey, do you know what time it is?" She dropped down and his heart shot to his throat, his eyes bugling. "Oh quit it, I'm fine. See?" Dusting herself off, she pirouetted and executed a deep bow. "Ta da!"

"Don't ever do that again!" Unbidden, tears stung his eyes.

"What are you talking about? I get why you're upset but you can't not live because of one – you know it wasn't your fault." As he curled into a ball, she rolled her eyes. "I'm not gonna spend the rest of our time not living. You fall down, you get back up. Life's full of trips and stumbles."

Over and over, his head shook, his arms wrapping around himself.

"Hey, I'm okay. Really." Squatting down in front of him, she poked him in the shoulder. "Look at you. You'd think you were the one who died. Let's go, c'mon. Live a little. D'you really want to stay here forever? There aren't even any books. You love books. We could walk along the beach, see the surf, skip stones… what's the point of life if you aren't living?"

"I can't lose you again." Somehow he was sitting up, standing up, towering over her, his hands clutching her shoulders.

"Ow, loosen up. C'mon. Look, I'm not gonna hole up here. You can't stop me, so you can either sit here without me or tag along."

"I won't let you go."

"There you are being stubborn. What are you gonna do to stop me?"

"I'll… I'll…" His throat constricted and he pulled her against him. In spite of the height difference, she might have been stronger, her arms fuller, her cheeks rosy, his gaunt and haggard. "I'll stop you."

Rolling her eyes, she slipped under and out of him. "Can't catch me. Never could."

"We're not leaving. I forbid it."

With a sigh, she flopped across his feet, then bit him.

"Ow!"

Threateningly, she opened her mouth towards his leg. "Feeeed me." She nibbled his calf lightly.

"Fine – but if – I swear if you try to run off, you – you won't be sitting down for a month!"

Imoen rolled her eyes, "Whatever you say, 'Puffguts'. Whatcha want to eat?"

Visibly deflating, he shrugged. "I don't even know how to get out of here."

"Oh, that's easy. This way." Beaming, she snatched his hand. "No adventures, I gotcha. Just a nice meal, see some trees."

"We don't have any money."

She shrugged. As if that had ever stopped her.

"Im…"

"All right, all right. Heeeeeeeeyyyyyyyy, lookit."

"What?"

"What's that?"

"What's what?"

"Over there, bufflehead!"

"I'm not falling for–"

"Got your purse."

"I don't-"

A cheek-splitting grin lit the chamber. "I wanna go to Beregost. C'mon. There's four taverns there. We could go on a pub crawl."

"You're too young." He folded his arms.

"Wanna know a secret? I'm as old as you are. Yup. I just look young 'cause of stuff. So we good? Good. Let's go."

Everything inside him froze. Then her hand found his and its warmth spread through him. She smiled, and he knew he was no longer alone.

_Fin_


End file.
